


Where He was Before

by freshnams



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Pre-Canon, Scavenger!Kurapika, he needs a hug and a nap, i guess i mean it takes place after the death of his clan and before the hunter exams so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshnams/pseuds/freshnams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeknownst to many, Kurapika records what he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where He was Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! I saw this really great post on the tumbles about our dear krapkah (http://sophosnores.tumblr.com/post/146566769751/shalnarkonice-allthekorrasami-something-i) and decided to bounce off of that. This isnt very good but its the first thing ive written in about a thousand years and i wrote it in like an hour so what can u expect really

In his free time, what little of it he has, Kurapika writes. Once-delicate hands leathered by three years of harsh labor loosely grip the stub of a pencil, recording all they know about their people. The language, the stories, the culture, drawing diagrams of clothing (traditional and casual), describing food and writing down recipes memorized from an age long past. These are the informative journals, the ones he will present to scholars at the time of his death (or perhaps before), containing all he knows of his vanquished people. The personal ones, however, will be buried with him. Already-filled notebooks collect dust in the corner of Kurapika’s humble abode, a thirty square foot room with only the basic amenities. A lamp, a bed, a dresser, a chamber pot, the journals and a cheesey  _ Zodiac Twelve _ calendar he got for fifty cents are all that decorate the dull, grey area. Glancing out of the small window, the sun says it’s low in the sky and he should be heading towards his next job. Hiding the journal and pencil under his mattress, he makes quick work of the five mile distance between his home and the job site. At this hour, Kurapika is a scavenger, but in others he is a waiter (though some mistake him for a waitress), a farmhand, or a housekeeper. Of all his stationary and odd jobs, he minds this one least, the hard physical labor is good training for the Hunter exam and he is alone, save for trading in his findings at the end of the day. People really aren’t his specialty. He cares too deeply and falls too hard for them to be worth his time. He begins to pluck his way through the remains of an enormous airship, taking gadgets and gizmos aplenty and stuffing them in his rucksack. Three hours (out of five) into his shift, he has scaled quite far up the side of the ship and hears someone yelling obscenities below him by the exchange stand. 

“What do you mean this is only worth thirty fucking dollars? I have a family to feed, you bastard!”  _ Tough luck, _ thought Kurapika, tuning out the scene beneath him and kicking open the rusted door to what he assumes was the engine room at one point. His mind wandered to what his parents used to do for a living as he maneuvers to where the good parts were. 

His father had been a merchant, travelling all over the world in search of the finest fabrics, rugs, and decorative housewares in exchange for the exquisite pottery the Kurtas were known for. Their most elaborate works were worth more on the regular market than their eyes on the black. His mother was one of those potters when she wasn’t busy cooking, cleaning, or teaching her dearest and only son. Their house had a single, small, almost delicate potter's wheel in the far corner of the master bedroom, where his mother would spend her small amounts of free time. All of their cookware was hand-made by her, and she repaired the broken works of others by sealing their cracks with metals. When she did that, he remembers, sometimes the result was even more beautiful than the original product. That’s what they took first.  _ Those damned spiders, they made off with all the eyes of my clan as well as their pottery _ . Kurapika’s jaw tightens and his body tenses.  _ And I- I was too weak. I couldn’t do anything.  _ He picks through the wreckage faster, hastier, angrier.  _ I just sat there and watched them be slain right before my eyes. I didn’t even try to stop them. I just sat there like a stump watching the entire forest be demolished right before my-  _

Thunk.

Kurapika whips around, trying to see who dare to hit him in the back of the head, his eyes glimmering crimson around the edges of his contacts, only to realize that he whacked himself on a particularly large screw protruding from the walls. The sun tells him it's time to go home, a welcome sentiment when you split work and training for eighteen hours a day. He exchanges his findings (fifty dollars- enough for this month’s food) and jaunts the five miles back to his home. He sheds his bag and top layer of clothing, retrieving the items from underneath the hefty mattress. He takes the pencil and crosses off today’s date on the calendar, where a widely smiling, excessively shiny Pariston lookes down upon him. If a picture could be condescending, he decides, this was how you did it. Kurapika glanced at the wooden swords under the creaky bed frame before flopping face-down onto his dusty sheets. He took one last look at the calendar (and felt the first twinges of annoyance at Pariston) before drifting off into a bleak, dreamless sleep.

_ Thirty days until the next Hunter exam.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Hopefully I'll continue the other thing I was writing at one point but that depends on my home situation and plus i have pkmn nationals this weekend so i should really be focusing on that instead but here we are


End file.
